Brian
Mystic Knight
"How wretched is the sun and earth? How wretched, when neither provide the warmth they once held and instead provide pain...suffering...abandonment."
The sky was unobstructed and the sun shone brightly on the sand of the eastern desert. Overhead, black vultures circled overhead, searching, watching for their next meal. It was incredibly hot that day and sweat rolled off the body of a knight in whose surrounding company were the bodies of nearly a dozen beastly warriors and mercenaries. The knight did not move though, fatigued...exhausted...battered and broken. His armor raised and lowered as a long needed breath was drawn in. A cough. Searing pain. Sand and dust and dirt covered the knight and the dead. Taking another breath, the armor shifted and sand trickled off back onto the ground. A blink, a teardrop. Sweet salty fluid clearing the eyes and once again allowing the knight to see. He turned his head slightly and saw the nearby bodies...the blood soaked into their clothing and the sand. He shifted his hands and pushed against the ground. Pain wracked his body. Cold, agonizing pain. He managed though, and the knight pushed himself up into a sitting position. He lifted his hands to his head and removed the helmet that had cradled his mind during the last two days and allowed it to drop and sink into the sand.
His vision was blurred for the moment as the sun glinted off of swords and axes, spears and armor. In his mind a voice echoed "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate" He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry from the dust and sand that nothing came out except a raspy and troubled breath. He blinked, his hands came up and rubbed against his eyes. Dried blood re-wet and smeared on his face as his blurred vision cleared up. It was very hot today. Through the pain in his body the knight stood and slowly, painstakingly began to remove all his armor only to let it fall to the ground and be sucked into the sand. Without his armor on, he felt naked...but lighter and the pain wasn't so great. Immediately his eyes noticed dried blood on his arms and a large splatter on his left side. He touched it with his hand and a new pain dropped him to his knee. Stabbed. He remembered now the last moment before he passed out. A spear had stabbed his flank, while his sword was removing the head from the torso of a mercenary.
Slowly standing back up, his eyes traveled and glared over the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands lay dead and rotting. The smell was overwhelming, and the sight of the buzzards dropping from the sky to feed. Thousands lay on that field, dead...rotted. Starthrans, Hunzial, mercenaries...all deceased. The knight stood, alone, isolated amongst the dead and recalled the failure of the delaying force. He recalled the volunteers from the north line collapsing. He remembered the Hunzial vanguard tearing through the royal guard. He remembered the horror of seeing his friends and fellow knights being consumed by the wave of death...and he wept. He wept like a newborn babe over the failure...over the death of his friends. Why was he spared? As he wept he asked himself this over and over again. Why was he, over any other, spared and still alive?
The voice called out to him again. "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate. This time, the voice was louder and seemed to come from behind him. He turned, the tears dropping from his cheeks and saw nobody. Only the dead looked back at him. The voice spoke again, "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you." This time, it was raspy and hissing...and this time, the dead all around him seemed to speak in unison. Confused, he was now. The dead could not speak, but yet...they repeated themselves. "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you."
A breath hissed, and the knight became startled as he felt something brush against him. He turned, again there was nothing but acres of dead. It was hot, and sweat continued to trickle off his brow. Salvation, he thought. Perhaps the dead are right. What fate has me here, where there is no salvation?
What fate?
What wretch?
The sky was unobstructed and the sun shone brightly on the sand of the eastern desert. Overhead, black vultures circled overhead, searching, watching for their next meal. It was incredibly hot that day and sweat rolled off the body of a knight in whose surrounding company were the bodies of nearly a dozen beastly warriors and mercenaries. The knight did not move though, fatigued...exhausted...battered and broken. His armor raised and lowered as a long needed breath was drawn in. A cough. Searing pain. Sand and dust and dirt covered the knight and the dead. Taking another breath, the armor shifted and sand trickled off back onto the ground. A blink, a teardrop. Sweet salty fluid clearing the eyes and once again allowing the knight to see. He turned his head slightly and saw the nearby bodies...the blood soaked into their clothing and the sand. He shifted his hands and pushed against the ground. Pain wracked his body. Cold, agonizing pain. He managed though, and the knight pushed himself up into a sitting position. He lifted his hands to his head and removed the helmet that had cradled his mind during the last two days and allowed it to drop and sink into the sand.
His vision was blurred for the moment as the sun glinted off of swords and axes, spears and armor. In his mind a voice echoed "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate" He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry from the dust and sand that nothing came out except a raspy and troubled breath. He blinked, his hands came up and rubbed against his eyes. Dried blood re-wet and smeared on his face as his blurred vision cleared up. It was very hot today. Through the pain in his body the knight stood and slowly, painstakingly began to remove all his armor only to let it fall to the ground and be sucked into the sand. Without his armor on, he felt naked...but lighter and the pain wasn't so great. Immediately his eyes noticed dried blood on his arms and a large splatter on his left side. He touched it with his hand and a new pain dropped him to his knee. Stabbed. He remembered now the last moment before he passed out. A spear had stabbed his flank, while his sword was removing the head from the torso of a mercenary.
Slowly standing back up, his eyes traveled and glared over the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands lay dead and rotting. The smell was overwhelming, and the sight of the buzzards dropping from the sky to feed. Thousands lay on that field, dead...rotted. Starthrans, Hunzial, mercenaries...all deceased. The knight stood, alone, isolated amongst the dead and recalled the failure of the delaying force. He recalled the volunteers from the north line collapsing. He remembered the Hunzial vanguard tearing through the royal guard. He remembered the horror of seeing his friends and fellow knights being consumed by the wave of death...and he wept. He wept like a newborn babe over the failure...over the death of his friends. Why was he spared? As he wept he asked himself this over and over again. Why was he, over any other, spared and still alive?
The voice called out to him again. "In the desert, knight, you will find salvation or you will seal your fate. This time, the voice was louder and seemed to come from behind him. He turned, the tears dropping from his cheeks and saw nobody. Only the dead looked back at him. The voice spoke again, "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you." This time, it was raspy and hissing...and this time, the dead all around him seemed to speak in unison. Confused, he was now. The dead could not speak, but yet...they repeated themselves. "Seal your fate, knight. There is no salvation for you."
A breath hissed, and the knight became startled as he felt something brush against him. He turned, again there was nothing but acres of dead. It was hot, and sweat continued to trickle off his brow. Salvation, he thought. Perhaps the dead are right. What fate has me here, where there is no salvation?
What fate?
What wretch?